Sacrifices
by Dakota-Jones
Summary: Chas is changed for heaven’s purposes, but that’s one thing John won’t accept. He stages his own personal war against heaven to win back the young man’s spirit that he knew and loved, but everything has a price…
1. Chapter 1

Title: Sacrifices (Part One)  
Author: Dakota-Jones (DJ)  
Pairing: John Constantine/Chas  
Rating: Strong PG-13, may go up later  
Spoilers Movie: Lots.  
Summary: Chas is changed for heaven's purposes, but that's one thing John won't accept. He stages his own personal war against heaven to win back the young man's spirit that he knew and loved, but everything has a price…  
Thanks: To Kristin for helping me tweak the idea.

* * *

It'd been two months since that night at the graveyard, when John had seen him. And he thought he was going to lose his mind.

He'd gone back to the grave five nights in a row after that, hoping for another glimpse of Chas, another hint that his apprentice was adjusting to the afterlife, but the angel had been elusive. Worse, none of his contacts knew anything about the born-again half breed.

It was as if he'd completely disappeared.

John took a drag off his cigarette, blowing a cloud of smoke, blurring his view of the bland ceiling in his apartment. His free hand traced the edges of one of the crosses on the bedspread, running across each stitch, memorizing the texture and forgetting it just as quickly. He didn't like being idle like this, but it wasn't time to go. Not yet. He'd promised his next client that he wouldn't be seen coming through her door till after dark.

The rich people were sometimes like that. Willing to let their children suffer a little longer for the sake of the neighbors never seeing strange people coming and going. Not that John cared, especially since he could make these people pay a helluva lot more than the common herd.

The apartment was so silent that when the streetlights outside came on, John could hear the electric crackling and then the sharp snap. He took one last drag off the spent cigarette before putting it out in the ashtray beside the bed, and then he slowly sat up and sighed.

Normally, right about now, Chas would be packing up the bag in the kitchen, getting together far more than John knew he would need. The boy was thorough; John was sometimes afraid he'd throw in a couple beers and the kitchen sink, 'just to be safe'. But now, John had to pack his own bag, which seemed painfully light without all the extra religious paraphernalia Chas would normally pack.

He silently walked to the kitchen, and as always, half expected to hear Chas's voice, repeating his name about five times in one sentence. He always did that, saying John's name like some kind of mantra that would impress the older man. John wasn't sure whether to be flattered, amused, or annoyed.

Now it didn't matter. After all, he wouldn't hear it again.

He picked up the bag off the table, his arm jerking a little too hard because of how light the bag was. He put an extra carton of cigarettes in his pocket, finished off the day-old shot glass of whiskey on the counter, and then he headed for the door.

_Can I come, John?_

_No._

_John, come on, you know I know how to do all this shit! John, I've been studying this type of demon, and…John, are you even listening? John?_

_I'm listening, kid. I just don't care._

_You know, John, this whole thing with you calling me 'kid' all the time probably isn't helping my case._

John could play any conversation they would've had in any situation, moreso than ever this one. It ran through his head over and over again in the taxi, which he was used to smelling like licorice, but this one reeked of fish, probably the driver's day job. John kept trying to conjure up exactly how Chas's voice would've sounded, how many times in one sentence he'd repeat John's name, the exact pitch of his words…

_Jesus, you're obsessed, _his logic broke through, and he tried to focus his attention on something other than his curly-headed apprentice. He looked out the window, watching as the nightlife of downtown LA slowly faded into the suburbs. It was such a stark difference that John could almost imagine he was in another state, another county, foreign.

He got out of the cab, grabbed his bag, and started to walk away.

"Hey! You pay me!" A strong Muslim voice stopped him, and he blinked and turned around.

_Oh, yeah. You have to pay him, Constantine. Great job of getting your mind off Chas._

He paid the driver, picked up his bag, and looked at the house before him. It was a two story brick colonial style home, probably worth a couple million dollars. He walked through the front gate and through a small flower garden up to the large, wooden front door, and then he rang the doorbell.

_Go back to the car, kid._

_I'm just carryin' the bag in for you, John. Doin' you a favor._

_That's fuckin' sweet, Chas, but I can carry the bag on my own. Go back to the car._

_But I-_

_Go._

The door swung open, revealing a tall blonde woman who looked like a walking ad for Botox. Her age was still evident in her eyes, though; the eyes always gave it away, along with the bottle-blonde hair cemented into some kind of poofy, cowlicked style. Her nails were perfectly manicured, and her outfit was perfectly pressed with matching shoes.

"You're John Constantine?" She asked, her voice strained and tired. John nodded. "Oh, thank God. She's putting up such a fuss in there, and the priest told me to call you, so I just-"

"Where is she?"

The lady seemed put off by his interruption, but quickly recovered. "Upstairs, third room on the right."

_Go back to the car, kid. Lady, don't let him in._

_But I can help!_

_Stop pouting and get your ass back in the car, Chas._

The exorcism went like most had in the past two months; uneventful, nothing out of the norm. John took a taxi halfway home, but then decided to walk the rest of the way. He needed the time and fresh air to think.

He actually remembered to pay the driver without being reminded this time, and he stepped out, quite suddenly relieved that Chas hadn't packed the bag. Walking like this, it would've been such a weight.

_Maybe you can get used to this. Maybe it will be for the better, for both of you,_ John thought, thinking about lighting up a cigarette but deciding against it for now. He'd cut back on the smoking, or at least tried to. At least he didn't go through three or four packs a day; he'd cut it down to one. It was a start, anyway.

He heard a muffled cry of pain and a scuffling sound from a nearby alley, and as usual, he ignored it. You only paid attention to that kind of stuff in LA if you wanted to get yourself killed.

He couldn't block out the sounds of the fight though, especially as he came closer to the alley. A slam, the sick sound of a fist hitting flesh, and a sudden 'crack'. Most likely two gang members duking it out.

"Damn fuckin' half-breed!"

…Or maybe not.

John sighed. He never did get a break, and now he had to deal with a renegade half demon. It just never ended. He could smell the sulfur already, and the heavy, strange scent of demon blood. But he sensed…something else. An angelic presence. No, not quite an angel…an angel half-breed.

An angel and a demon, fighting on the streets? That was an uncommon occurrence. Angels didn't fight. So most likely, this was an angel getting the shit beat out of him by a demon.

As soon as he turned into the alley, though, he could see that this was not the case.

Even in the dark, the figure seemed to have an unearthly glow. The angel stood with one foot on the demon's chest, the other between his legs, a gun in hand, no doubt loaded with some kind of enhanced bullets.

It was Chas.

One, two, three, four shots to the demon's forehead, and John froze, staring at the white clad figure whose perfect white pants were now marred with splattered blood. But as quickly as the blood hit the fabric it faded, seeming to die away as the demon gave a few final twitches.

"Chas."

The word choked out before John even realized it, and the angel's head slowly tilted up to see the exorcist in the mouth of the alley. A smirk lit up on his face, one that didn't quite reach his eyes, which shone gold with mischief. He tilted his head, looking very cat-like in the moonlight. Then, with one fluid movement, he lifted his index finger to his lips, as if to say, 'Don't tell, John'.

Before John could move or think on what he'd just witnessed, Chas's wings appeared and spread, and with one strong flap he was gone into the night sky. The demon's body was crumbling, flaking away, and would soon be gone as well, carried away in the wind.

John couldn't move. He couldn't believe this. He'd just seen Chas, looking very much like a seasoned prissy angel, silently kill a demon without a second thought. And also, for no obvious reason that John could tell. And he hadn't even stuck around to say a single word to his former 'employer'.

"God…what did you do to him?" John muttered, stepping forward and studying the remains of the demon.

He wouldn't let this go. Something had happened, and he didn't like it. He would find out what they'd done with his youthful, charming apprentice, the Chas he knew, the Chas he'd been close to loving. So close, but too late. Much too late.

As far as he was concerned, Chas's soul belonged to him. And he'd fight God Himself to have that right for all of eternity.

* * *

Please review!


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Sacrifices (Part Two)  
Author: fatedtoflames (DJ)  
Pairing: John Constantine/Chas  
Rating: Strong PG-13, may go up later  
Spoilers Movie: Lots.  
Summary: Chas is changed for heaven's purposes, but that's one thing John won't accept. He stages his own personal war against heaven to win back the young man's spirit that he knew and loved, but everything has a price…

* * *

John knew there was only one place he could go for this kind of information: Midnite. The man was a walking encyclopedia of the supernatural, and though he could be a complete and total egotistical bastard, it was the best place to start.

Midnite had a problem with realizing that he wasn't the supreme being on Earth. A problem, as in he didn't realize it at all.

John passed the bouncer easily, and made his way into the dark bar. The sense of supernatural beings was overwhelming, clouding John's senses to everything else. He passed the demons and angels alike, feeling their eyes lock on him few a few curious moments; he hadn't been back here since the night Chas died.

With the demons, it was more than curiosity. It was resentment. He could feel it in the air, thick as fog…they hated him for escaping the Hell he so righteously deserved in their eyes.

He went straight to the back, waiting outside the door. Midnite would know he was here; how, John didn't know, and he didn't really care either. After a few moments the door swung open, and John casually walked in, sitting down across from Midnite silently.

"This is about your young apprentice," Midnite finally said. It was a statement, not a question.

"I saw him earlier," John said, his voice carefully kept emotionless. "He shot a demon four times. In the head. A little overkill, especially for an angel, don't you think?"

Midnite nodded, and paused, obviously thinking it over. "Heaven has its ways."

"What's that supposed to mean?" John asked, and then he leaned forward on the table. "That wasn't Chas. I know him, and that wasn't _him_."

"Changes have to be made to preserve the balance."

"So they _did_ fuck around with his head. What do you know that you aren't telling me?"

Midnite hesitated, and then he gave John a warning glance. "I won't have you waging your own personal war against heaven, John. You know what that could cost you."

"You didn't answer my question."

Midnite was silent a few moments, and then he put down his cigar and stood up. "Come with me, John. I have something to show you."

John stood up and followed Midnite into the back room. He never got used to seeing this many holy relics in one place: books, talismans, blessed jewelry, and even a few bodies of saints were stored away in this room.

Midnite went straight to the bookshelves, searching through the titles until he pulled out a large white book. He took it over to the nearest empty table and opened it up, and John watched as he leafed through the blank pages.

About halfway through, Midnite stopped and picked up a nearby vial of holy water. He dripped it on the lower right corner of the page, and the number 107 appeared.

"Five more pages," Midnite muttered to himself, flipping over the next five blank pages. Then he stopped and splashed the holy water onto the page he'd come to.

A picture appeared of an angel on a field of war, smoke and confusion around him. The angel himself was perfectly calm, intense, even a little forlorn.

"Assassin Angel."

John looked up at Midnite. "What?"

Midnite pointed at the Latin text, his finger tracing along the line. "An assassin for Heaven. They are made to kill trouble demons and only to do that. Upon death, the soul is changed for Heaven's purposes."

John's fists tightened. "So Heaven took him, fucked up his soul, made him a consciousless killer, and now they're using him to clean up demonic messes?"

"When put bluntly, yes. Sacrifices must be made for the balance, John, you know this as well as I do."

"…Not _my _Chas."

"John, don't do anything you'll regret…"

By the time Midnite spoke those words, John was already out the door. He walked out into the bar, found a group of angels, and within a few seconds reached out with his mind to figure out which one was in charge, the most powerful.

Then he broke into the group, grabbed that one by the lapels, and slammed him into the nearest wall.

"Chas Kramer. You know him. _You know him_," he demanded, shaking the surprised angel a bit.

"Yeah, yeah, the new kid. Would you put me down? Please?"

"No. Tell me where I can find him."

"I don't know! I don't-"

John grabbed the angel by the throat with an iron grip. "You'll tell me where I can find him or I'll saw your damn wings off with a hand saw."

John could vaguely hear Midnite behind him, babbling on about the rules of his house and the neutrality, but he wasn't listening. He was glaring at the angel, waiting for the angel to choke out what he wanted to hear.

"A bust…on 3rd Street. Gun store. Half hour from now."

_How fitting_, John thought as he dropped the angel. He turned and shoved past Midnite, heading straight for the door. Midnite could've stopped him easily, could've punished him for the show he just put on, but John knew he wouldn't. Midnite understood what that kid meant to him.

The demons and angels parted for John like the waters of the Red Sea, all of them watching him wide-eyed. They obviously weren't used to John Constantine throwing a temper tantrum in a public place.

As the cool night air hit John, he wondered what exactly he was getting himself into. He was going to be stepping into a situation with a bunch of pissed off dying demons and an angel with no qualms about slitting his throat. Maybe he was crazy.

Actually, he was pretty sure he was crazy. But if that helped him figure this out and save Chas from an eternity of _this_, then he'd deal with it.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Sacrifices (Part Three)  
Author: fatedtoflames (DJ)  
Pairing: John Constantine/Chas  
Rating: Strong PG-13, may go up later  
Spoilers Movie: Lots.  
Summary: Chas is changed for heaven's purposes, but that's one thing John won't accept. He stages his own personal war against heaven to win back the young man's spirit that he knew and loved, but everything has a price…

* * *

The night was unusually quiet for downtown LA. Cars were honking, music banged from inside clubs and apartment buildings, and half the streetlights were out along the main thoroughfare, as usual, but there was still that _silence_.

Maybe John was the only one that could hear it. It was a spiritual silence, a silence of the many whispering voices in the alleyways, a hostile, tense silence. As if something important was about to happen and all the demons who usually roamed the streets knew it.

John didn't particularly care at the moment. Maybe he should have paid more attention, but his mind was now on more pressing issues. He lit up a cigarette, relishing the feeling of the nicotine calming his senses. It was his last for the day, he swore that this morning- half a pack. No more.

It was a long walk, but he had a half hour to get there, and he didn't particularly want to take a cab. He took long strides, keeping an eye out for any strange activity, but the streets seemed…dead. Once in a while a car would drive by, but other than that, eerie inactivity. Just the sound of his shoes clicking on the pavement and a catfight a few streets away.

_Gun shop on 3rd_, he repeated mentally as he reached the address. He looked in the windows of the store, but they were pitch black. No lights on inside, and the dim streetlights only shed light on the decorative gun racks in the front windows.

Never one to give up that easily, John walked to the front door, and immediately knew something was different. The iron gate behind the door hadn't been pulled down. No shop owner in downtown LA would simply forget to pull down that gate; it was one simple thing that kept a lot of thefts from happening.

Something was wrong here.

He grabbed onto the doorknob and turned, expecting to find the resistance of a locked door. Instead, the knob turned and the door popped open easily.

Something was most definitely wrong here.

He pushed the door open further, and that's when it hit him. The overwhelming smell of sulfur and the blood of demons. He considered turning back, but there was something else in here, something different…an angelic presence.

"Chas?" He called out carefully, walking in and letting the door swing shut behind him. Utter silence in the room, no sign of the presence he sensed. Maybe it was just residual, from all the energy in the fight.

"Chas, you here?"

He reached over and flipped on the light, and the light bathed the remains of at least seven demons on the floor, mostly flaked away. John checked his watch.

He'd arrived here in 31 minutes.

All of this had been done in one minute.

He took a few more steps, and then quite suddenly, something hit him square in the back. He stumbled forward into a display of rifles and then recovered and spun around, ready to fight…

Nothing. No one was there.

Then, something tugged on his hair from behind. He spun around again, and perched on the rack of rifles was Chas, squatted down on the top of the rack, wings folded, eyes piercing and curious, his outfit spotlessly white. The angel had been _teasing_ him.

"Jesus, Chas…you scared me, you little bastard."

Chas's eyes flashed golden and his head tilted to the side.

"I'm impressed, you runnin' around murdering demons."

A smirk.

"You know, when you were alive I couldn't get you to shut up, and now that you're dead I just wish you'd say one damn word to me."

A long silence. Then, Chas's hand snapped behind him and pulled a gun from his belt, snapping it forward and pressing the barrel of it against John's forehead.

"_Die_."

John barely had time to duck, and he felt the bullet actually pass through his hair as he dove to the floor. And by the time he landed on his stomach on the floor and looked up, Chas was nowhere to be seen.

He looked around, breathing hard, trying to figure out where the angel had gone. No doors had opened, no windows had broken…there was no way he could've gotten out.

John was trapped in a store with a homicidal angel who had a gun.

He slowly stood up and backed toward the door. He could still sense the angel, Chas was still here, but nowhere to be seen.

That is, until he backed into him.

He spun around and cursed, and before he could move he received a sharp kick to the stomach that sent him to the floor. The angel leaped forward and slammed one foot down on John's chest. The gun was once again pointed at John's forehead, and he didn't dare move.

He'd been trapped and pinned by his own apprentice. He would've been humiliated if he hadn't been scared shitless and trying not to show it.

The funny thing was, even with a gun pointed at his head, John was struck with awe at the utter beauty of the boy holding him down. The piercing gaze, the undoubtedly soft brown curls, the skin that seemed to glow with Heaven's light…

Suddenly, without taking his gaze off John, the angel reached up to the desk and grabbed an ink pen. He tucked the gun in his belt, and then reached down and ripped John's shirt open in one swift movement.

John's breath caught in his throat. He considered striking out at the angel, almost afraid that he would be stabbed through the heart with the pen. But instead, the angel began to write a series of symbols on his chest.

Once finished, he stepped back and admired his handiwork for a few moments- then he turned and walked out the door.

John lay there for a few moments, confused and uncertain of what he should do. Would Chas come back to kill him? Would he ambush him the second he walked out the door?

Only one way to find out.

John took one more look down at the writing on his chest, and then shook his head and stood up. He walked out the door, and nothing happened. No ambush. The angel was gone for sure.

John just didn't get it. One second the kid made a shot at killing him, the next second he's shrugging off a perfect chance to finish the job to do some fancy artwork (and ruin yet another $200 shirt).

John sighed heavily and looked up and down the street. He needed to get home and sleep before anything else, or he'd just pass out in some alley. Not a good idea in this city.

But once home, the mystery only got worse.

He removed his shirt and went to the mirror to brush his teeth, and that's when he realized that the symbols on his chest weren't so strange after all.

In the mirror, they read **2435334730**.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Sacrifices (Part Four)  
Author: fatedtoflames (DJ)  
Pairing: John Constantine/Chas  
Rating: Strong PG-13, may go up later  
Spoilers Movie: Lots.  
Summary: Chas is changed for heaven's purposes, but that's one thing John won't accept. He stages his own personal war against heaven to win back the young man's spirit that he knew and loved, but everything has a price…

* * *

It took John the whole next day to figure out what the numbers meant.

"You could've made it easier, you asshole," John muttered to Chas, standing in front of apartment number 243. The rest of the number, 533-4730, was the phone number for this residence.

Now he just had to figure out why Chas had sent him to this residence.

It looked like a normal apartment from the outside. It was a pretty beat up building, with syringes and empty beer bottles littering the hallway. He hesitated again before knocking on the door.

"Noah! You fuckin' get that!"

John raised an eyebrow at the harsh, slurred voice, and he heard a shuffling and a 'bang'. Then, the door opened, and behind it was…

…Chas. Chas, looking very human, chewing on a piece of red licorice.

John's breath caught in his throat, and Chas…well, evidently Noah…raised an eyebrow at him.

"What do you want?"

Definitely Chas. _Assassin angel by night, and this is where they have him during the day. This is his home off the job. God must be some cruel bastard._

"Look, buddy, if you're tryin' to sell dope, he doesn't buy door-to-door. You'll hafta catch him out of the house," Noah said, obviously close to slamming the door in John's face.

John was too busy being in shock to speak. God had not only screwed him over with the job, but he'd set him up with a druggie and drunk by day? This was too much. Far too much.

Noah started to close the door, but John grabbed him by the arm and yanked him out into the hallway.

"Come with me," he ordered, and Noah immediately began to struggle and scream. John rolled his eyes and pulled the reluctant teenager along.

"Let _go_ of me!"

"Look, kid, I'm not gonna hurt you. We're just goin' for a ride."

"You can't rape me, I have AIDS!"

"No you don't."

"Okay then, herpes! Chlamydia! The fuckin' black plague! Let go, you sick bastard!"

"I'm not gonna rape you, Chas."

Noah stopped his struggles for a moment and looked at John curiously, still being pulled along, out the apartment building. "Who the hell is Chas? You've got the wrong kid!"

"Just come with me, you damn half breed…"

"No!"

John sighed, and then pushed Noah up against the nearest wall, getting down nose-to-nose with him.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not going to rape you. Now, if you'd rather go back and sit in that shit hole delivering beers and answering doors, go right ahead. But if you're smart, which I know you are, you're gonna come with me to figure all this out."

He let go and took a few steps back, expecting Noah to bolt, but he didn't. The boy stood there, beautiful as ever in the dim light from the setting sun, and looking quite a bit confused and distraught. He ran his hand through his hair, and then he sighed heavily.

"You could at least tell me your name."

"Constantine. John Constantine." _Asshole._

"…That's one helluva fucked up name. I'm gonna be late for work, you know that, right?"

"The cab company doesn't care," John said, starting to walk and lighting up a cigarette.

"Yeah, they…wait a second! How'd you know I work at a cab company?" Noah demanded, rushing to catch up.

"Lucky guess."

John led the boy to Midnite's, and that familiar feeling was back, that feeling that his back was covered if he needed it. That comforting feeling that Chas always brought when he was near. It took all John had to keep from just giving him a hug, and telling him how much he'd missed him.

Noah looked around nervously as they walked down the steps, and John steered the boy around the bouncer, quickly muttering 'cat on a tightrope'. The bouncer let them pass, and John kept a tight hold on the wide-eyed boy's arm as they made their way through all the demons and angels alike.

It was obvious that they could tell Noah was a half breed, could see his wings. The demons looked at him almost hungrily, some angrily, while the angels gave him nervous glances.

Everyone in here except Noah knew what he was capable of, should the angel in him have to take over.

As soon as Midnite's door opened, John pushed Noah in and shoved him down in the chair across from Midnite. Midnite looked from Noah to John, his eyes narrowing.

"John, this was not smart…"

"Forget smart, Midnite…look at him. He doesn't even _know_. He's an abused kid by day, murderer by night, and I want you to tell me what I can do to fix it. _Now._"

Noah looked positively flabbergasted now. "I _what_?"

"You should not have brought him here, John. This was a _mistake_," Midnite said harshly, standing up. "You don't know what you've compromised."

"You've been in on this from the very start! What else have you been hiding from me!" John demanded.

"I will _not _be treated as a criminal within these walls!" Midnite screamed, slamming his fist down on the table hard, making Noah jump about a foot off the chair and whimper. "Yes, the boy works for me! I needed Heaven's assistance to keep certain demons from tipping the balance, and they sent him to me when he died. John, this is how things must be," Midnite growled, and John glared at him in disbelief.

"You fuckin' _bastard_."

Midnite was about to speak, but something stopped him. Namely a shimmer, a flash of light, and then Noah was no longer Noah. Chas was sitting there, dressed in white, wings fully visible and a smirk on his face.

"Are you boys going to argue about me all night?" He asked, eyes flashing gold.


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Sacrifices (Part Five)  
Author: fatedtoflames (DJ)  
Pairing: John Constantine/Chas  
Rating: Strong PG-13, may go up later  
Spoilers Movie: Lots.  
Summary: Chas is changed for heaven's purposes, but that's one thing John won't accept. He stages his own personal war against heaven to win back the young man's spirit that he knew and loved, but everything has a price…  
X-Posted to three Constantine communities(total) and my private LJ.

* * *

John immediately felt like taking a few steps back, but he forced himself to stand his ground. After all, he was the bad ass demon hunter…he'd never backed down from Gabriel, let alone this pipsqueak of an angel.

Midnite was silent as Chas stood up, watching the angel's every move. Chas didn't even look at them yet, simply stood up and stretched. It reminded John of what a cat would do, aloof and arrogant, the formerly clumsy movements of a teenage boy transformed into graceful lines of movement. Every turn of the head, every angle of motion, every gesture was so carefully calculated and yet so casually _intimidating_.

With a slight tilt of his head Chas looked at John, eyes glowing, a knowing smirk on his face.

"You're one pitiful excuse for a human being."

John sneered. "And you're an egotistical _bastard_."

"Don't tempt me to kill you."

"You wouldn't."

Chas laughed, a sound that sent a shiver down John's spine. "You're the only one I know who would take that chance."

Chas turned and left the room, and John made a move to follow, but Midnite grabbed his arm.

"John, _don't_. He will kill you."

"Don't touch me," John growled, pulling his arm from Midnite's grip. The two men shared a look, a look that communicated both resentment and understanding, and then John followed the angel out.

Chas had already left the club; John could tell because there was still a path open on the floor where the other angels and demons had moved to give him plenty of space to pass. John took advantage of it and ran to the door, bursting outside and looking both ways down the street.

No angel. He'd lost him.

He stepped up to the alley beside the club, and then took a few steps into it, listening for any sounds that would give the angel away.

He suddenly heard a gun cock, and he froze. He didn't hear the light footsteps as the angel circled around to be in front of him, the barrel of his handgun still trained on John's head.

"You just don't give up, do you, exorcist?"

"You of all people should know that I don't."

"I should blow your brains out right now."

"But you won't."

Chas smiled, and John felt his heart skip a beat.

"No, John, I won't. You're right," he said, lowering the gun. "Because I feel sorry for you."

"I don't want your pity."

"Too late."

John had already made his decision. He watched the angel, watched every careful move, and most of all kept an eye on the gun. And the second the angel's finger slipped away from the trigger, he made his move.

He grabbed the hand with the gun, twisted it out of the half-breed's hand, and then did a fast leg sweep to knock Chas off his feet. John dropped down to straddle the struggling angel, and then pressed the gun to Chas's forehead, closed his eyes, and pulled the trigger.

The gun went off, and still he didn't open his eyes.

He felt the body twitch beneath his and then go limp. The bullets worked on both demons and angels, always had, but John hadn't actually expected to be able to pull that off.

The only explanation was that the angel had let him do it.

He took in a gasping, shuddering breath, reached up with his hand to find Chas's hair, tenderly stroking it before placing a kiss on the boy's lips, shivering at the sensation of kissing someone without feeling their warm breath against his lips.

"God, if you do one thing for me in my entire life…let him be _happy_," he whispered against Chas's lips before leaning up once again.

He opened his eyes but avoided looking at Chas's face; he didn't think he could bear to see the boy dead once again. He slowly stood up, dropped the gun at the angel's feet, and left the alley.

* * *

That night, John went back to Chas's grave. The wind was blowing hard, and the occasional bolt of lightening crossed the sky on the horizon, but John didn't want to leave yet.

He was hoping for one more glimpse, some kind of sign. The last time he'd been let down, and after two hours out here, it looked like tonight would be the same.

The kid was a disaster. He was clumsy, juvenile, sarcastic, optimistic, and a bit obsessive. But at the same time he was beautiful, loyal, and undeniably _perfect_.

A beautiful disaster. The most truthful oxymoron John had ever heard in his life.

John reached out and with two fingers traced the teenager's name on the cold marble, swallowing thickly, jaw clenched.

_John, you're kinda pitiful. It's cold out here, let's go home._

_Not yet, Chas._

_What the hell are you waiting on, rose petals to fall from the sky? It's a graveyard, John, these people are probably sick of seein' the bottom of your shoes!_

_Shut up, kid._

John laughed bitterly. That kid's voice was more present in his mind than his own.

"Chas...you'd probably think I was pretty fuckin' ridiculous," he said to no one.

"You're right. I do."

John spun around. Nothing.

_You're losing your mind,_ he thought, shaking his head and reaching for a cigarette.

"Alright, first you get your grimy fingerprints all over my gravestone, now you're lighting up? Geez, John, have some respect for the dead."

This time when John turned around, his imagination wasn't the culprit. Chas was sitting there on a gravestone about ten feet away, normal clothes, wings folded casually.

"Chas…"

"You shot me, you bastard."

"You were already dead. It doesn't count."

"True, but it's the thought that counts. And you were quite obviously thinking 'I've gotta kill this thing'!"

John laughed. Definitely Chas. _His _Chas, not the Chas Midnite needed, not the Chas Heaven created…

_His _Chas.

"Come here, kiddo," he said, and in half a second Chas had practically leapt into John's arms, and John pulled him into a tight hug, one hand tangling in the boy's soft curls.

"Missed you, kid."

Chas didn't respond. He didn't have to.

John smiled and kissed the top of his head.

A beautiful disaster, but _his_ beautiful disaster.


End file.
